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She (Daisy) dug her nails into her palms and told herself she had no choice. "I, Theodosia..." She gulped for air. "...take thee Alexander..." She gulped again. "...to be my awful wedded husband.
— Susan Elizabeth Phillips
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We haven’t met for many years, said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be. "Five years next November." The automatic quality set us all back at least another minute.
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
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